


solecism

by entropyalwaysincreases



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A little smutty, Cousin Incest, F/M, How I Live Now (2013) - Freeform, WIZARD STYLE, World War III, but also me mucking about in 21st century magical geopolitical intrigue, heavily inspired by the movie, potentially character death will update the archive warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropyalwaysincreases/pseuds/entropyalwaysincreases
Summary: “And what about you?” Rose said, turning on her father. “Are you abandoning us as well?”Ron refused to meet her eyes. “I still have the American deal. And…then I’m joining your mother.”Rose didn’t say anything, just turned on her heel and slid into the backseat next to James.“Mum and Dad are going to Switzerland,” she announced loudly, pulling the door shut behind her. There was an instant uproar from the others and her mother looked miserable as she slid into the passenger seat. James didn’t say anything, just brushed her fingertips with his own, as if he would very much like to take her hand but wasn’t sure if she’d allow it. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. And they sat in their own little world the whole wretched ride home.





	solecism

part i.

 

The Potters returned suddenly from their Mediterranean vacation.

“I think there was a riot in the next town over from us, but Dad got an owl and we had to come home right away. Muggles were involved somehow? Dad won’t tell us…” Albus said in an undertone to Rose in the kitchen of their grandmother’s home. Rose’s parents, too, had been reluctant to share information. “International incident” was all she’d been able to get from them before she flooed to the Burrow.

“When do they tell us anything?” Rose responded with a shrug. “Where’s James anyway?” She’d seen Lily in the garden through the window, but James was elusive.

Albus shrugged back. “He’s been in a strop since before we went on vacation… hell if I know why…”

They spent the day lounging by the pond in the back of the house. “We ought to clean this out,” Rose suggested, dipping her toes lazily into the murky water. “Then we could swim.”

“You go right ahead….” Albus tipped his face back to catch the sun. “Ahh, the monster emerges.” He shot an upside-down grin at his scowling brother, who stood with his arms crossed near the kitchen door.

“Mum and Dad are going to Switzerland,” he said. “I thought you’d like to know.” He turned back inside without acknowledging Rose. She and Albus exchanged raised eyebrows and heaved themselves to their feet.

“If they’re going to Switzerland…”

“Then it’s serious.” Rose finished for him. What could possibly be so bad it was Switzerland-worthy? A massive breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, or the return of Voldemort … Rose had been raised on war stories, had grown up hearing about international disputes and foreign policy. No one had ever dashed off to Switzerland before. They followed James into the house, but were intercepted by their grandmother, who swept them both into a crushing hug.

“Well, I think James already told you, but Harry and Ginny are going to Switzerland for a bit, and in the meantime, Albus and Lily and James will be staying here.” She smiled widely at them. “And Rose, you and Hugo are welcome to stay here too… I daresay your mother will be rather busy as well.”

“What’s going on?” Rose asked quickly.

“Nothing to worry about… there’s just been an, ah, _incident_ in Italy that the International Confederation of Wizards wants to consult Harry about… they think it might be related to some other things they’ve been facing lately.”

“What other things?”

“Never you mind… point is, they’re being sorted out, and you really ought to be concerned about the fun you’ve missed in Italy! I know it’s not as fun here as on the Continent, Albus, but we’ll try our best to make it up to you, won’t we, Rose?”

It was decided that Rose and Hugo would also stay the night, as Hermione owled to say she’d be working late, and Ron was consulting about something-or-other with an American store chain. Rose grumbled a bit about being quite old enough to stay at home by herself, but secretly she was pleased to have some company when everything was so uncertain. The divvying-up of rooms was a battle in itself, but it was soon set so that James had Ginny’s old room (as was his custom, and no one was about to argue with him in his current surly state), Lily in Percy’s old room, Albus and Hugo in the twin’s old room, and Rose in the attic. The old Chudley Cannons posters were faded and dusty, but their soft orange glow and gently moving figures were comforting.

Tonight, though, their comfort was lacking. Thoughts raced in her head, tumbling over themselves and each other. _Switzerland… what’s so bad they’d have to go to Switzerland? Incident…International Incident. Voldemort. World War III… what’s so bad they’d have to go to Switzerland? And James…It’s my fault… all my fault…_

She woke suddenly as flashes of green exploded behind her eyelids. She gasped for breath and glanced around the room, certain that a figure was about to emerge from the shadowy corners. Her vision swayed as she threw back the blankets and reached for the door handle. Before she knew it she was on the second floor landing, in front of a large poster of Gwenog Jones.

“James?” She pushed open the door, biting her lip. He’d be mad at her for waking him… even madder than he was now… she ought to leave…

“Rose?” He sat up slowly, gazing blearily at her. “Wassamatter?”

“I—I’m…” Tears pricked her eyes, and she tried to keep the waver out of her voice. “I’m sorry, ok? I’m so sorry…”

She couldn’t see his face in the dim light, but after a slight pause, he lifted the blankets so there was a spot for her on the pillow next to him. “Keep me company? I can’t sleep.”

She smiled sadly and slid in next to him. He threw a heavy and comforting arm around her waist, tugging her close like she was a teddy bear. They used to do this all the time, back before Hogwarts, when they didn’t realize that just because they were the two oldest didn’t mean they’d be in the same grade, and the ten months between James and Rose seemed much less significant than the nine between Rose and Albus. She sighed contentedly and nestled into his pillow; he nuzzled his face in her hair.

The bed was empty when she woke, and she made her way to the kitchen to find Albus there alone. He handed her a plate of eggs and bacon and shoved a stack of toast at her from across the table.

“Where is everybody?” she wondered aloud as she spread jam on a piece of bread.

“Grandmum went to Diagon Alley, Lily’s flooed to her friend’s house for the day, your dad picked Hugo up this morning to do something, and James could be absolutely anywhere.”

The last bit was certainly true. James had passed his apparition test at the end of March and had been jetting off to random places ever since. _You should make a list_ , Rose had told him, _make a list of places and check them off one by one._

_Come with me?_ he’d replied.

_Of course._

“Rose?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just asking what you wanted to do today.”

Rose grinned. “We’re going to build ourselves a swimming pool.”

It was muddy work, and the sun was blistering; Rose was starting to develop a sunburn on the back of her neck. She and Albus stood knee deep in murky pond water, shifting stones and pulling water weeds out from the muck.

“It’s fed by this little stream here, do you see?” She wiped her forehead and pointed. “If we can clear it out a bit and open the downstream part, the water will be clearer.”

Albus shook his head at her. “Why did I agree to this?”

They didn’t accomplish much the first day, but Rose at least remained optimistic and on the second day they recruited Lily and Hugo from their various activities. Lily had the clever idea of covering the bottom with smooth stones so the mud would settle and they spent a lot of time diving to make sure the coverage was even. Rose stubbed her toe on a misshapen rock and sat fuming in the weeds for an hour.

“If only we could smooth these out with magic,” she mused, examining a large stone closely. “It would be so easy.”

“Maybe we could ask Grandmum,” Hugo suggested, dropping his stone so it splashed water on Lily, who shrieked at him.

“I think she’s busy,” intoned Al. “Maybe James? But he’d say no just to spite us…”

“Where is James?” Rose asked casually. Al just rolled his eyes.

“Who knows?”

He still wasn’t home for a dinner of meatballs and salad, which Grandmum insisted they eat outside.

“It’s so nice out,” she sighed in the evening dusk. “Makes me want to conjure some fairies, for the lighting. Your granddad used to do it, on special occasions…”

Lily clucked sympathetically. They progressed to dessert—lavender ice cream—and just as Rose considered licking her bowl, James hurried out from the kitchen. He threw a paper down on the table in front of them, and Rose and Albus scrambled to see in the dim light.

“ _Attack in the… Ballroom?_ I can’t make it out, what does it say? _Incident may be related to…_ what? Related to what? Oh, let’s go in the kitchen, I can’t see anything.”

_Attack in the Balkans. Incident May be Related to Italian Massacre Earlier this Week._

“It’s an international group, they think,” said James, who had evidently already read the article. He spread out the newspaper on the kitchen table. “Possible Muggle ties, which is really bad if you knew what the Muggles were capable of…They don’t know how deep it goes, or what they want.”

“So this is why Dad’s in Switzerland?” Lily asked, standing on tip-toes to see the article. “What does he have to do with it? He’s not an expert on Eastern European groups…”

“Probably gives them comfort, having the great Harry Potter with them and all, makes them think they stand a chance. And he’ll have the English perspective, that’s something…”

“Do you think England will get involved?” Rose paused. “Do you think there’ll be an attack here?”

“Who knows?” James caught her eye and then looked away quickly. Rose suddenly remembered that they hadn’t spoken since she climbed into his bed, and not even really then. She bit her lip and looked at the ceiling.

“I need to send an owl,” Grandmum said, hand at her heart. She glanced nervously at her clock, but no one pointed at _Mortal Danger_ just yet. “Or maybe three. In the meantime,” she looked pointedly at James, “you are all staying here. No apparating away again until we know what’s going on.”

James opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it and resigned himself to poking through the leftovers on the stove. The kitchen suddenly had a sticky tension to it, as if anyone moved a meteorite might crash through the door. Lily piped up in a strained voice, “Anyone for a game of Exploding Snap?” There was a general murmur of assent and they set up around the scrubbed wooden table, and even James joined in.

If thoughts had raced on the first night of her stay, it was nothing to how she felt now.   _Attack in the Balkans…might be connected. International incident…what’s so bad they have to go to Switzerland? Was this it, was there more?_ Rose stared at the poster on the ceiling above her bed as Galvin Gudgeon flew in and out of the frame, waving at her each time. _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

“Rose?” There was a whisper and a figure in Hollyhead Harpie boxers stood in her doorway. “Rose? I’m sorry too.” And then he was gone and in the morning she was half-convinced that she had dreamed it.

 

The week that followed was filled with a sort of tense haziness. Rose spent the mornings scouring the newspaper and the afternoons in a restless string of activities that never culminated in anything. It wasn’t until Albus suggested they continue to work on their pool that she was able to focus. She threw herself into the physical labor and gave orders with dictatorial authority. The others fell into line quickly, also eager for something to do, and she took comfort in the simulacrum of order that she had created.

Confined to the house, James avoided their little project for as long as he could, but soon took to loitering around the edges of the garden while they worked.

“If you’re going to just stand there,” Rose said to him finally, “you might as well make yourself useful.”

He scowled at her but complied, peeling off his socks and shoes and jumping in.

“No, no,” Rose said brightly. “Your job is to smooth down these stones so we can use them for the bottom.” She pointed at a pile of misshapen rocks they had hauled out of the pond. “Make them flat, like this, see?”

He appealed to the others silently, but they just shook their heads and returned to their work; Rose was in charge here. With a huff, he pulled out his wand.

They progressed more quickly now, and Rose was so tired by the end of the day that she didn’t have the energy to think at night. Her sleep was sound, and if James visited her again, she didn’t know.

The weeds were gone, the water was nearly clear, and Lily, Hugo, and Albus were ready to celebrate. Rose yelled at their retreating backs “We have plenty more to do!” but the lure of lemonade was too great and Rose’s power was vanquished for the afternoon.

Scowling almost as hard as James, she heaved another rock to their discard pile, and sliced her thumb on the rough surface.

“Damn!” She held it aloft and tried not to think of the bacteria content of pond water.

“What’s wrong?” James was up to his chest in the deeper end of the pool trying to rearrange some smoothed stones with his feet.

“Cut myself. It’s no matter…”

“Let me see.” He made his way over and caught her hand, examining the cut. Then brought her thumb up to his mouth.

She gaped at him as he sucked her cut clean. He caught her eye when he pulled her digit from his lips, and for a moment they stared at each other, her hand still firmly in his.

“Oi!” Albus called from across the lawn. “D’you want lemonade or not?”

“Uhh, I—yes, I do!” Rose scrambled out of the pool and James followed her, his bare chest dripping. Al greeted them with lemonades in tall glasses, and his eyes darted between the pair of them. Rose sometimes wondered if Albus was more astute than she gave him credit for.

 

There was an owl from Ginny the next morning, and they crowded around to read it.

“ _Your father’s been very busy,_ blah, blah, blah _, in diplomatic meetings, consulting with other Auror organizations… I’ve been meeting with the International Association of Quidditch and various national teams to discuss security, as there is a concern the groups in question may attack Quidditch games…_ Leave it to Mum to make this about Quidditch. _Due to the unknown nature of the situation, we’ll be gone at least another week, but may be longer. I’ll try to Floo soon._ Blimey, they don’t even know when they’ll be home…”

Albus snatched the letter from James’ grasp and scanned it so quickly that his eyes appeared blurred. Lily sank into an armchair and cradled her face in her hands. Rose felt bad for them; at least she had seen her parents recently, although her mother was still working long hours. Ron had come around for dinner once, though, and agreed that it was best for everyone if they stayed here.

“We ought to go do something fun,” Rose announced. The rest looked at her.

“I’m not building another swimming pool,” Albus said flatly.

“No, not like that… I meant, we could go to Diagon Alley, or into Ottery St. Catchpole, or go flying…”

“What if we flew _to_ Ottery St. Catchpole,” Hugo suggested with a gleam in his eye.

“No,” said Lily.

In the end (and due in no small part to Grandmum’s flat refusal to let them go anywhere in the Wizarding world unaccompanied) they walked to the village with a small purse of Muggle money. They got some pointed glances as they walked down the small main street; Lily, Hugo, and Rose’s hair marked them clearly as part of the odd Weasley clan that lived over the hill. Rose quite liked Muggles and their strange knick-knacks. Her mother had made an effort to incorporate Muggle things into their lives, but Rose’s other grandparents lived just outside Sydney, so there wasn’t much chance to see everything firsthand.

They stopped in the paper shop and bought sheets of stamps; Lily and Hugo made a game of sticking them on each other’s faces. Rose shot a placating smile at the shopkeeper, who merely looked on, bemused. Next, the sweet shop, with Mars bars and Malteses and a sad lack of Cauldron Cakes. There was a small market with over laden produce stands and shelves of tinned meals and coolers of frozen foods. They bought a bag of peaches and sat to eat them in the town square.

“You don’t think there’d be an attack here, do you?” Lily asked through her peach, her cheeks shiny with juice.

Albus shrugged. “There’s been attacks before.”

“Yes, but not since…” she gave a significant look.

“What? There can only be one dark wizard ever? There isn’t exactly much keeping them out…our lot can move awfully fast…”

“And if there are Muggles involved… we really ought to be worried,” Rose chimed in.

“Muggles? Why should we worry about them?” Hugo craned his neck to look at Rose.

“Muggles have terrible weapons, too, and there are so many of them, and they’re so easily compelled… I’d say Muggles are worth worrying about.”

“Do you think Muggles are more dangerous than Wizards?” Albus frowned at her.

“Not individually, but some of the things I was reading about—massive destruction, and targeted diseases—usually Wizards have to direct curses themselves. These can be set off from far away.”

“Rose is right,” James sighed. “If Muggles are involved, we’re fucked.”

They sat in silence and soon decided to start walking back to the Burrow. So much for having a bit of fun. Maybe tomorrow, if Ron could get away, or if Grandmum felt like taking them somewhere. It was a terrible feeling, being trapped and anxious. Even being at Hogwarts felt more like being in the thick of things. Rose fell to the back of the group next to James, who was stuck carrying the rest of the peaches. Her mouth felt sticky and she asked him to conjure her a handkerchief. He glanced around then discreetly waved his wand. It was a slightly mottled-looking thing, but a quick _aguamenti_ and it was more than effective.

“Thanks.” She considering handing it back to him, but decided against it. “Did… do you really think Muggles are that dangerous?”

He sighed. “You’ve read the same things I have, Rose. Dad gets reports… he doesn’t tell us much, but I can tell it’s bad.”

She sighed too. “Yeah. It’s just scary to think about, is all.” She looked sideways at him. They were a few hundred paces behind the other three, who seemed to have resumed the stamp game. He stared straight ahead, and she allowed herself to examine his profile. His nose was straight, his hair reddish-brown, and his eyes were a dark, pure blue. It’d been a sort of running joke in their family, where James’ eyes had come from. In every other respect, he was a perfect mix of his parents—Ginny’s freckles, Harry’s chin. But his eyes, they were an anomaly.

The silence was painful. For as long as she could remember, theirs has been a relationship of loud laughter and boastful stories and talking over one another to be heard. _This is all your fault_ , part of her wanted to tell him, had already told him. But the other bit, which was a bit more objective, a bit more fair, a bit more mind-bogglingly mad, realized that he only voiced it, and that she had a hand in it too.

They did end up flying when they get back—James apparated home to pick up everyone’s broomsticks—and it was an elating sensation, to be up in the air and free.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Albus yelled over the wind. But Rose thought she knew—it didn’t seem right, when they first heard. They’d needed to be grounded and tired and busy. Now it had sunk it, and they needed an escape. They played two-a-side with Hugo as Keeper, and Rose found herself on Albus’ team, tossing an old Quaffle back and forth among the orchard trees. She looped James and he came back with a vengeance, nearly toppling her off her broom; Lily caught the Quaffle and scored, much to Hugo’s chagrin.

“Rose, stop dropping the ball,” he ordered.

“What? I’m not on your team! If she hadn’t gotten it from me, _I_ would have scored on you!”

But Hugo only shook his head. “Lily’s better than you.”

The game ended in a huff and they retreated indoors for a game of Gobstones. Rose stalled in going to bed, certain she’d be overcome with nightmares. Finally around one o’clock she abandoned the cat and made her way up the rickety staircase. On the second landing, a door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open gently. James sat in bed, reading by the soft light of his wand.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” He paused. “Can’t sleep?” She shook her head. “Me neither.”

It shouldn’t feel routine, climbing under the covers with him, but Rose found herself wishing it _was_ her routine, that every night could hold this comfort. He extinguished his wand and wrapped his arm around her as before. In the dark, Rose felt emboldened, and held up her palm to him. For a moment he didn’t know what to do with it, until he remembered the games they used to play. He caught her hand and traced delicate figures on her skin with his fingertips, curly-q’s and letters and stars on her palm and her fingers and her wrist. He moved up her arm and dragged his thumbnail over her shoulder. She shivered.

“It didn’t mean anything you know,” he whispered into her hair. “I only did it to hurt you. Because it felt like you were trying to hurt me.”

“I was,” Rose said to the wall, “trying to hurt you.”

“But why?”

She didn’t respond, because he _knew_ why. He heaved a sigh and kissed the back of her head, just behind her ear, dangerously close to her neck. She didn’t try to stop him.

 

She was woken by a gentle shaking and she opened her eyes slowly to see her mother crouched in front of her.

“Mum?”

“Yes, darling... I just got off work, thought I might take you to do something today.” She smiled brightly, but there was something strained in her expression, and Rose realized that James still had his arm wrapped around her, and that he was shirtless. “Erhm… why are you in here?”

“Oh,” said Rose, moving James’ arm off her gently. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Hermione nodded understandingly and there was a pause while Rose extricated herself more completely. Rose kept her face carefully blank; she’d always been good at hiding things, had a bit of a knack for it really. But she felt her mother’s gaze on her as she left the room, noticed the casual glances at James’ bare back.

Her father sat at the kitchen table with a full breakfast plate in front of him. He greeted her boisterously, and she was genuinely pleased to see him.

“Both of you?” she asked while she hugged him. “I thought you were tied up with some American deal.”

“Well, it _is_ a Sunday, Rosie,” he admonished her with a grin. “Can’t expect me to work all weekend.”

The rest trickled in, and Rose avoided looking at James as he stumbled to the breakfast table—still shirtless—and began pulling breakfast foods toward him without discernment. His grandmother didn’t allow him such a free pass.

“I don’t know what your parents allow you to get away with at their house, James, but I always made my children show up _fully dressed_ to the breakfast table.”

“She’s right,” Ron said through a mouth full of kipper, pointing his fork knowingly at James. “We were held to the utmost standards of decorum.”

They laughed and Rose felt almost normal for a few minutes as she munched her toast. She turned to her mother, who was half-way through her fifth cup of tea, and smiled.

“I missed you.”

Hermione returned the smile, though it was a little sad, and reached out for Rose’s hand. There were wrinkles at the corners of her mouth, dark shadows beneath her eyes; she had never looked so old.

They went to the seaside, the whole lot of them. Grandmum with an enormous floppy hat and a magicked picnic basket, Hugo with four towels under each arm, and Lily in a skimpy bathing suit that Al kept frowning at. They set up camp out of sight of the Muggle boardwalk, spread blankets and umbrellas, and cracked iced bottles of butterbeer. Somehow Louis and Fred caught wind of it and showed up with a covert bag of fireworks. James followed them into the surf, looking happier than he had in weeks, and Rose fought to keep down the little thrill of jealousy that rose in her throat as she watched them. Hermione sighed. “I’m too tired to tell them off.”

“Nevermind that,” said Ron impatiently, leaning forward to get a better look at the fireworks. “Are those _ours_? I’ve never seen—I’ll have to ask them how they made…” He trailed away into mutters.

There was a sudden roaring sound from overhead, and Rose turned her head so fast she cricked her neck. Nine Muggle aeroplanes zipped by in tight formation out over the sea. It was the loudest thing Rose had ever heard. She turned quickly to face her mother, who was looking in the direction of the departed aeroplanes with her hand up to shield her face from the sun. Her mouth was set in a thin line.

“What were those things?” Rose demanded.

“Fighter jets,” Hermione replied shortly. She began rummaging around in the picnic basket and Rose saw her discreetly lay her wand on her towel. The boys ran in from the water.

“Where’s Lily?” James asked distractedly. “What were those? Where’s Al?” But they were soon spotted running in from the direction of the boardwalk, casting worried looks over the ocean.

“Everyone calm down,” Hermione raised a hand to silence the nervous chatter. “There isn’t any danger. Those were part of British Muggle military preparations. Nothing to worry about.”

“ _Military_ preparations?” Rose repeated. “So the Muggles _are_ involved then.”

Hermione took a deep breath. “It was decided that we inform the Muggle government of the situation and allow them to prepare as they see fit. We have a task force that’s collaborating with them.”

Rose glanced at James, who had his hand firmly on Lily’s shoulder as if the jets might come back and sweep her away. He looked up and caught her eye; her own emotions were mirrored in his face—wild, blank fear, and a sort of nascent determination. _What do we do?_ Action was unattainable, but doing nothing was a sheer impossibility.

The sea seemed to have lost its sparkle and everyone was in a somber mood as they packed to go back to the Burrow. Rose fell back near her parents while the rest loaded into the car (magically expanded to accommodate everyone). “This wasn’t how I wanted it to go,” Hermione was saying in an undertone to Ron, who had a grim expression on his face. He shrugged.

“You can’t keep everything from them…they read the newspapers, they’ll figure it out eventually. I just wish Harry was coming back… James looks like he’s about to crack.”

“And Rose too, I wish--” Hermione looked up and saw Rose dawdling. “Can we help you with something?”

“Er—are we coming home tonight?”

Rose knew the answer from the way her mother’s face fell and the way her father looked at his feet while he scuffed the sandy grass. “I’m sorry dear, but I’ve a portkey scheduled for early tomorrow and—“

“A portkey,” Rose interjected sharply. “A portkey where?”

Hermione winced. “Switzerland.”

“ _What_?”

“I was going to tell you today, but this was all bollocksed-up, and Rose, darling, I know you’re scared, but this is for the best—“

“And what about you?” Rose said, turning on her father. “Are you abandoning us as well?”

Ron refused to meet her eyes. “I still have the American deal. And…then I’m joining your mother.”

Rose didn’t say anything, just turned on her heel and slid into the backseat next to James.

“Mum and Dad are going to Switzerland,” she announced loudly, pulling the door shut behind her. There was an instant uproar from the others and her mother looked miserable as she slid into the passenger seat. James didn’t say anything, just brushed her fingertips with his own, as if he would very much like to take her hand but wasn’t sure if she’d allow it. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. And they sat in their own little world the whole wretched ride home.

 

Rose felt a fatigue settling over her, a general disinterest in summer and its myriad diversions. She was tired of the Burrow, tired of the worry and of combing newspapers every morning, tired of the apologetic letters sent by her parents and tired of their absence. She started marking off days on her calendar; only a month until they all returned to Hogwarts and the stifling, pervasive _wrongness_ could be shoved into the periphery.

She took to staying up late reading in the small sitting room. At first she tried to research modern Muggle weapons and war strategies, but quickly gave it up when dirty bombs and drone strikes filled her dreams. Now she filled her nights with textbooks and Muggle fantasy novels, which she found thoroughly entertaining. It made her think; if Muggles were this wrong about Wizards, what might Wizards have missed about Muggles?

After a particularly trying day, Rose found herself reading the driest material she could get her hands on, in an effort to stop herself from thinking at all. _Poisoned catalysts are useful in experiments where one wants to reduce…_ There had been two attacks with Muggle firearms in France and Belgium… _to one product but not all the way…_ which might not have been noteworthy, but Wizards had been killed in both attacks, caught unawares… _reaction adds stereospecifically, producing a_ cis _conformation…_ “They’re never coming home,” James had predicted dismally… _interesting to note that Muggles also employ poisoned catalysts, notably the Lindlar catalyst…_

Rose threw the book away in frustration, rubbing her smarting eyes. Weren’t the Muggle and Wizarding worlds supposed to be separate? They’d always seemed so to her as a child…as solidly separate as the brick wall keeping Diagon Alley from the rest of London…

“Rose?” A figure on the first landing moved into better light and she could see that it was James in his boxer shorts. “Is everything alright?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, and so only shook her head. The silence seemed to echo in the small room, punctuated only by the clock ticking. _2:15_ it read. James moved forward cautiously, then all at once she was swept up by his bare arms. It was a tender sort of gesture and she allowed herself to be held; her ear was pressed against his chest and she could hear his heart, beating just a bit faster than the tick of the clock.  

After a bit he pulled away and they stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. He tucked a strand of bright red behind her ear, but his fingers stayed in her hair and then his lips were on hers. It was a soft kiss, nothing like last time. He drew back sooner than she would have liked and they stood there hardly daring to breathe. _He’s asking permission_ , she realized, and she brought her hand up to cup his jaw, and stood on tip-toes to press her own chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. As she fell back he followed her down hungrily, bringing his other hand up to cradle the small of her back. Her tongue traced his lips and he opened his mouth to her probing advances, began to explore tentatively himself.

Rose pulled away to catch her breath and James redirected his attention to her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her skin, sweeping her hair away for better access. His hand brushed accidentally passed her earlobe and when she shivered he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and tugged on the lobe with his teeth. A strangled little gasp escaped her and it seemed to make him redouble his efforts; her back hit a wall and she dug her nails into his bare shoulder, recapturing his lips with her own.

A noise from upstairs broke them apart and they stood, breathing hard, trying desperately not to make any noise.

“We should—“ Rose whispered hoarsely, when it became clear no one was coming down to investigate. She gestured feebly upstairs and James nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly. He had one hand on the wall beside her head. She moved from the wall but he stayed her with a hand on her hip.

“Just—just to be sure,” he started, as hoarse as she, “this is… ok?”

There were so many things not ok about this, but they all seemed so silly now, somehow. Their gravity had diminished in the light of other things, and what had seemed unthinkable two months ago now presented itself with appealing inevitability.

She bit her lip and nodded. James’ face, unbidden, split into a smile, and he caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. Their parting kiss tasted more of promise than sadness, more of hope than of fear. And in spite of everything, she couldn’t help but smile back.

 

The week before the Quidditch final (or more importantly, two weeks before O.W.L.’s were scheduled to start) Rose was prodded out of a deep sleep by a floating head.

“How did you get in here?” she hissed at James’ grinning face. He shrugged and tugged her out of bed; she only just got her slippers on her feet before she was under the invisibility cloak and they had snuck out the portrait hole. It was always an eerie experience to walk about the castle after dark, and eerier still when you couldn’t see your own feet. “Where are we going?” she whispered, causing a nearby suit of armor to creak its head in their direction.

“You’ll see…”

They had come to the doors of the Great Hall and James whipped off the invisibility cloak so that he could open the double doors dramatically. “Ta da!” Rose had to blink several times to be sure of what she was seeing. They were in a giant crystal cave open to the heavens. Great spires of purple quartz projected from the walls; the floor and tables were encrusted with a thin layer of gems in every imaginable shade.

“It’ll be bigger by tomorrow,” James said proudly, surveying his work. “Just thought you’d like to be the first to see it.”

“It’s incredible,” Rose said, trailing her fingers over the smooth facets of the crystals on the walls. “I assume you took an aragonite seed crystal from a Fire Crab…”

“And altered the magical mineral densities so it would grow faster? Yeah.” He shrugged as if to apologize for his cleverness. “I figured people might need a break from everything, O.W.L.’s and N.E.W.T.’s and such, and since I’ve neither, well…”

“My hero,” Rose smiled. He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Well, if you like that—“

A crash in the entrance hall shook them to their senses and Rose whispered hurriedly, “the cloak!” James fumbled for it but the next second Bodd, the caretaker, wheezed into the room.

“Run!”

There was a convenient path of tapestry hangings and secret passageways that led from the Great Hall to the fourth floor, but it was a thrill every time they passed through an open corridor without the cloak, a minor heart-attack every time they ripped through a tapestry without knowing what was on the other side. Rose hadn’t had so much fun in ages. Finally James pulled them into an empty classroom and they collapsed on the floor, trying to catch their breaths.

“Think we’ve lost him…”

“D’you think he recognized us?”

“Nah, he’s half-blind. I could probably walk right in front of him and he’d end up giving Philip Leroy detention instead.”

“Not a chance,” she said, grinning widely. “You look nothing like Philip Leroy.”

“Is that a bet?” he said, grinning back. “Because if it is, I’ll go back out there right—“ He stood up and made to open the door. Rose caught his arm, giggling madly, trying to hold him back.

“You can’t—“

“Well you’re certainly not going to stop me—“

They wrestled for the handle and somehow Rose found herself wedged between James and the door, hands on his broad shoulders to push him away. A cloud shifted outside the window and moonlight illuminated the room, and in that instant it became clear they weren’t struggling anymore; James’ hands were not on the doorknob, but on her hips, and she wasn’t pushing but pulling.

James’ mouth descended on hers in a rough kiss made of passion and impulse. It wasn’t anything like how she’d imagined it, in those stolen moments when she allowed herself to imagine such things. But it was persuasive, and sent a shock down through her core to tingle in her extremities. And, without thinking, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

He responded enthusiastically, pressing her harder against the door, squeezing her hips in a rough grip. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, coaxed her tongue with his own. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe. A thick fog had descended on her brain, obscuring her vision and her judgment, so that all she could think of was _James, James, James_ , her fingers knotted in his hair and his hand up her shirt. A knuckle scraped past her nipple and she let out a groan. James broke away to pant into her neck, cupping her breast fully in his warm palm.

_What were they doing_ ? a small voice like a splash of cold water broke into the back of her brain. _Holy fuck, what are we doing?_

“James,” she gasped out, pushing half-heartedly on his chest while he sucked a bruise on her pulse point. “James!”

“What?” He pulled back to look at her with a sloppy grin; it slowly slid off his face as he took in her expression. “What’s the matter?”

Rose looked at him, stricken. “We shouldn’t’ve done that,” she said slowly. She felt for the doorknob digging into her backside, turned it and pushed. “I—we really shouldn’t have done that.” Then she was running down the corridor, Bodd be damned.

“Wait, Rose, come back!” James called after her, but she didn’t stop until she had locked the door to her dormitory—how had he gotten up here in the first place?—and was curled once more beneath her sheets.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._ She pressed her palms to her eyelids so hard she saw stars. This wasn’t supposed to happen, she wasn’t supposed to, they shouldn’t have— _they kissed_ . And now everything was out in the open and they could never put it away again, and everything was ruined, and what would their family think? _Their_ family, because they were related and they’d grown up together and kissing James should be like kissing her brother, but it _wasn’t_ . It was amazing and sexy and wonderful and clearly he’d wanted to kiss her too and that shouldn’t make her stomach churn into butterflies but it _did_ , and oh god she was fucked wasn’t she?

She managed to avoid him for three whole days, skipping breakfast and taking obscure routes between classes. If Albus thought something was odd, he didn’t mention anything, and Rose hoped he simply chalked it up to pre-O.W.L. jitters. In reality, she had never been less focused on her schoolwork. The whole scene seemed to play as if on a loop in her head, and it put her in a constant state of mixed anxiety and arousal. She wondered if other people could tell, wondered what other people would _think_. The Wizarding world was small, after all. Their names were already famous; there’d be no escape, even in another country. They’d be ostracized, cast out, disowned…

He finally caught up with her half-way down the Charms corridor one late afternoon and pulled her into an empty classroom. For a moment, neither of them said anything, just stared at the walls with their arms crossed. Finally James spoke.

“Look, I’m sorry if you regret the other night, but you can’t just ignore me for three days, okay? It’s not like I did anything wrong—“

Rose looked up, and in that moment she realized she hated him just a little bit, for messing it all up, bringing it all out in the open.

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” she asked incredulously. “ _Everything_ about this is wrong, James! We can’t—do you know what people would think? And our family? And what about us? You’ve ruined everything!”

“ _I_ ruined--?”

“You kissed me!”

“You kissed me back!” he roared. “Don’t go pinning this all on me…”

“I stopped it, if you didn’t notice! Where exactly had you planned on taking it? Were we supposed to become Hogwarts’ resident cousin couple? Were we going to live happily ever after in wedded incestuous bliss?” Her tone had taken on a cruel edge and she flung the words at him like knives, hardly stopping to wince when she realized how deep she cut herself.

His face had gone blank. He stood still for a moment, as if to let the words have their full impact, then moved abruptly toward the door.

“Don’t talk to me,” he said shortly, before sweeping into the hallway beyond. Rose stared after him, chewing on her lip, resisting the urge to call him back. A hard lump rose in her throat and she sidled out into the corridor, trying to blend in with the other dinner stragglers, hoping the tears welling in her eyes would go unnoticed.

She threw herself into studying, and avoided the common room more than ever. Her dreams swam in potions ingredients and sixteenth century goblin wars, and she couldn’t help but feverishly draw analogies to her current situation. Comfrey and alkanet were both part of the Boraginaceae family, but their combination was a key to the Wittig draught. And all sorts of wizards had married their cousins in the fourteenth century; there was probably incest in her family already. She imagined trying this argument on her mother, and shuddered at the thought.

James’ expression seemed to be seared onto the backs of her eyelids. _Don’t talk to me_ . How could she not talk to him? She had never not talked to him, he was _James_. She felt another flair of anger towards him; how dare he ruin this? How dare he ruin them?

How dare she refuse him?

How dare she refuse them both something they wanted very, very badly? And in the name of what? Society and family and future job options—too many things to count, and yet, none of them seemed very important.

She made up her mind to apologize to him, after the Quidditch final, pull him away from the crowd and in the euphoria he would forgive her, and maybe then they could… work something out.

Gryffindor won handily, and Rose wasn’t surprised; James had put together a solid team this year. She ought to know; he’d talked about it ad nauseam earlier in the year. The common room was boisterous once she finally made it back, and someone had charmed flasks of firewhiskey to float around and pour shots into people’s glasses. Rose wondered how she might pull James aside. He was currently surrounded by a knot of admirers, and she didn’t think it likely he’d seek her out on his own.

A splash from one of the floating bottles landed on her robes, and she looked around in indignation for a culprit.

“Whoops, sorry Weasley.” Richard Peters conjured a handkerchief and began to wipe off her front.

“Looking to cop a feel, are you?” Rose scowled at him, but it was halfhearted; she liked Peters. They’d both been members of the ill-fated Transfiguration Society until Lou Bobofit managed to transfigure his own arm into a shark and shut down the whole operation.

“You know me,” he winked at her, and she laughed for the first time in what seemed like weeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but just then the crowd shifted and she caught sight of James over Peters’ shoulder.

He was kissing Megan DeWitt.

His eyes flashed open to catch her gaze, and they stared at each other for a second across the room, before he turned and started to kiss Megan’s neck.

“Rose?” Peters was saying. “Rose, what’s the matter?”

“I—um, I have to go.” She stumbled through the crowd blindly, felt rather than saw the way up the steep spiral staircase, and collapsed on her bed. Finally, finally, she gave way with deep, racking sobs that filled her chest, and a flood of everything she’d been trying not to think about burst forth. She’d said things, and now she could never take them back, and everything was royally fucked.

She sat up and pressed her palms to her eyes, smearing her mascara. She glared at her reflection in the mirror across the dormitory. Fuck this. And fuck James.

One thing she knew for certain. She wouldn’t be apologizing to him unless the world was about to end.

 

The week that followed the French attacks was quiet, and maybe it should have been ominous, but Rose suddenly couldn’t find it in her to care. It was as if a large balloon had inflated in her chest, and she suddenly immune to all the problems that clamored for her attention. How could she worry about Muggle militia groups when James was sending her knowing grins from across the pantry? How could she miss her parents when his foot caught hers under the table at dinner, and traced up her leg, and _—oh_. She found it hard to believe that the others hadn’t noticed anything, but this lot had always been rather oblivious, and she and James had always had their little inside jokes.

The summer days, recently so stifling, now brimmed with lazy possibility. They’d bring stacks of books to a lonely corner of the orchard and read for hours, hands and limbs tangled, and, after checking that the coast was clear, steal a few kisses.

One afternoon, when Lily and Hugo had gone to Diagon Alley with Grandmum, and Albus was doing who knows what in the attic, they spread themselves out under their favorite tree and munched apples from its branches. James was on his stomach, perusing a Muggle guide to astrophysics, and Rose was trying to get through another chemistry text, but she wasn’t having much success; James’ hand was on her belly under her shirt, and she was having difficulty concentrating.

“That’s the third time you’ve sighed in the last five minutes,” he said without looking up from his book.

“I, well, you’re—“ she stammered, “you’re distracting me!” She nodded at his hand, and he looked up to grin mischievously at her.

“Am I?” He maneuvered himself so he was looking up at her from the vicinity of her stomach, “I’m awfully sorry.”  He dropped down to press a kiss just below her belly button.

“ _James_ ,” she hissed, looking toward the house. But he just flashed a grin, and it was so genuine that she couldn’t help but smile in return. She was smiling all the time these days.

He pressed another kiss to the same spot, then nudged her shirt up with his nose, dragging his lips across her sweaty skin, raising goosebumps in his wake. She let out a breathy little sigh and hated herself for it, but it seemed to reassure him, and soon his nose bumped into the lace of her bra. He shifted his weight to free a hand and pushed up the fabric to cup her breast. They looked at each other for a moment, both breathing hard, and then James bent his head to take her nipple between his teeth.

It was like a shock sent straight to her core, and she arched her back reflexively, clutching his head to her chest and moaning rather louder than she had intended. James pulled away and raised his eyebrows at her, laughing. “I didn’t realize I was that good.”

“Shut up,” Rose tried to tell him, but the words came out jumbled, and she pulled him back impatiently. He chuckled but ducked his head again to suckle at one nipple, and then the other, laving the peaks with his tongue. Rose suspected he was enjoying this nearly as much as she was. She worked her hand up under his shirt to run her nails down his back, then under the waist of his pants to touch his bum. This elicited a small grunt from James, and he released her nipple to suck on her bottom lip instead, massaging her abandoned breast with his large hand.

She withdrew her hand from the back of his jeans and wedged it between them, ghosting over his belly-button to pause at his belt buckle. She fumbled with it for a second before giving up. “Help?” she whispered against James’ lips.

“Really?” he whispered back, and when she nodded, he scrambled to undo it, tugging it from the belt loops so fast that it smacked against Rose’s thigh. “Sorry!” he said when she hissed in pain, rubbing the spot with his thumb.

She shook her head, “It’s fine.” He raised his eyebrows at her and she giggled at his absurd expression, pulling him down into a full kiss. This time she slipped her hand down the front of his pants with ease, and then she was holding him in her palm. He was larger than she expected, hot to the touch. She stroked his length with her fingertips, and she was reminded of the game they used to play of drawing figures on the other’s skin; oh how far they’d come.

When she grasped him fully, he groaned and thrust into her hand. _What an odd situation to find oneself in_ , she found herself thinking as she tried to keep pace with him, _rubbing off one’s own cousin_ —

James’ hand found its way to the apex of her thighs and her wry thoughts vanished instantly. He was keeping time better than she, and he somehow managed to deftly undo the buttons on her shorts to slip his hand down her knickers. Rose squeaked. James smirked at her and smothered her outburst with a kiss, while smoothly slipping one long finger between her folds.

It was unlike anything Rose had felt before, even when she touched herself; it was more… _intense_ , somehow, like little shock-waves of electricity, and it seemed to turn off her brain. Suddenly she was biting James’ neck without having consciously decided upon it, digging her nails into his shoulder blades. He added another finger and she thought she might explode from the tightness of it, delicious friction—his thumb brushed her clit—her hand was in his hair, tugging, a long keening noise—

She blinked at him deliriously as he pulled out his hand and sucked his fingers clean, watching her catch her breath. She held out her thumb to his lips and he pulled that between his teeth too, before moving on to each of her fingers in turn. Rose sighed, and her knee nudged a bulge in his pants.

“Oh, I didn’t, you know, for you—“

“It’s fine, Rose, honestly—“ But she slipped her hand down his trousers again, pushed him gently so she was on top of him. The moisture on her fingers helped her hand slide more smoothly down his shaft, and she realized she must have been pulling the skin before. She pulled her hand out to re-moisten her fingers, and fumbled trying to get her hand back down his pants. Huffing, she tugged them down so that he stood erect before her. Curiously she rubbed her thumb over the tip, smearing the pre-cum that beaded there. This seemed to do something for James, who let out a small choking noise, but it too dried quickly. Rose sucked her fingers again before deciding this was ridiculous, and bent her head to lick the tip directly.

It was a curious flavor—salty and hot, with a hint of musk—but it wasn’t too bad. She swirled her tongue experimentally, drawing shapes as her fingers had done before, then took him partially into her mouth. He was longer than she had room for, and she wasn’t about to deep-throat anyone just yet, so she grasped the base in her palm and sucked just the tip. She looked up to see how James was faring; he was staring at her with a dazed expression.

“So, am I… doing ok?” He blinked rapidly at her, before clearing his throat rather loudly.

“Oh, er, yes… I mean, spot on…” Rose moved her hand down his moistened shaft again and was amazed at how smoothly it glided. “Oh, _Merlin_ , yes do that, do it harder…”

Her hand started to ache, and he covered hers with his own larger one, moving it faster and faster until he came with a grunt, and sticky substance leaked between Rose’s fingers. She examined it while James recovered on the grass.

“You know, semen has fructose in it,” she said. “You’d think it’d make it sweet.”

“It’s not,” James sighed. “Oh, and sorry ‘bout that…” He reached for his wand to clean off her hands, then zipped up his trousers.

“So you’ve tasted semen then?”

He turned red around the ears. “Just once… to see…”

“Your own or someone else’s?” He scowled at her, but she just grinned wickedly back at him, so he tackled her around the waist and pinned her wrists to the ground above her head, straddling her hips.

“I’d like to taste _you_ ,” he whispered hotly in her ear.

“That wasn’t an answer,” she whispered back, but he cut her off with a searing kiss, and she arched up into him, feeling his hardness growing again, and she wanted more too. She felt… insatiable. Delirious. Giddy.

“ROSE! JAMES!” came a cry from the house.

Fuck.

They scrambled to their feet, straightening clothes and grabbing books. Rose wrestled with her hair.

“What do I look like?” she hissed. James appraised her while re-threading his belt, a dopey expression still lingering on his face.

“Beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Not_ the time.” But she smiled secretly to herself all the same.

They walked up to the house, trying not to look too guilty. Rose wondered if maybe Lily had picked her up one of the books she’d off-handedly mentioned the other night, and if Hugo had remembered the potion ingredients she’d specifically asked for. Grandmum usually brought back some odd trinket or another, so eager to spoil grandchildren the way she couldn’t with her children…

Albus met them in the garden and his face was so stricken Rose was certain she’d left a tit hanging out. She glanced down hurriedly to check, but James’ grave voice cut across her panic.

“What’s happened, Al?”

Al just shook his head, unable to speak, and beckoned them inside. Rose felt a surge of cold, sickening dread freeze through her chest and she grasped James’ hand tightly as they crossed the threshold. George sat at the scrubbed kitchen table, looking as solemn as Rose had ever seen him, mutedly dressed in a green traveling cloak and a black pointed hat.

“There’s been an attack,” he said bluntly. “Diagon alley, and about two blocks of Muggle London just outside the Leaky Cauldron.”

Rose, Albus and James all simultaneously darted their eyes toward the clock on the wall. All twenty-some odd hands pointed at Mortal Danger. Rose wasn’t sure whether to sigh in relief or not; she’d been at school when Granddad passed, she wasn’t sure what happened to the hand.

“I think they’re alive,” George said gruffly. “Fred’s got all limp when he died, didn’t really point at anything.”

“Wouldn’t they come back here?” Albus’s eyes shone blindingly glassy green.

George shook his head. “Advisory’s gone out from the Ministry-- they might be tracing magical signatures. Maybe dropping Muggle bombs using drones. We all need to clear out for a few days, till we know what’s going on.” He looked at James. “Take them up North. Use as little magic as possible and move away from your Apparition site. I’ll check on you in a day or so.” He stood, tossing him an ordinary Muggle flip phone.

“Where are you going?” Rose asked.

“Switzerland.” How Rose hated that word. “They need another expert on Muggle-magical device interplay.” George touched his wand to a wooden spoon abandoned on the countertop so it glowed blue. “Let me know if you run into Fred and Roxanne up there, they should’ve left an hour or so ago.” He pulled out his pocket watch and stuck a forefinger to the center of the spoon. Rose thought there was a little desperation in the quiver of his finger. “Take Dad’s old tent, should still be in the she--”

He disappeared with a sucking sound and a bright flash of blue light.

They stared at each other blankly. After waiting so long for the worst to happen, it all seemed rather anticlimactic. Up North? What exactly did that mean? And no magic? How would that even be possible?

“I’ll--I’ll get the tent,” Albus said shakily. He pushed out the door and was gone.

“I think there are some ordinary knapsacks upstairs--how little can they trace, d’you think? Can we expand them, or--”

James stared hard at her, clenching his jaw so tightly Rose was worried he’d crack a tooth.

“I love you.” The intensity of his gaze made his anomalous blue eyes almost black. “I love you, and I refuse to lose you.”

Rose felt her throat swell at his words. “You’re not going to,” she said fiercely. “We’re all going to be fine.” She squeezed his hand and when she pulled away she could feel the divots where her nails had dug into his skin.

They were haphazardly packed within a half hour, cowed by the full weight of their chosen possessions. They walked solemnly to the edge of the orchard, where the air shimmered with wards, at the threshold where one refraction gave way to the next. The three of them clasped hands, an ominous sort of seance over things not yet dead. The Burrow looked emptily back at them and when they turned Rose thought of the clock, wishing they could’ve taken it with them. Her parents facing their deaths once again.

_You’ve seen war_ . Rose thought of her mother, helpless now behind her army of bureaucrats, of her father and George, a joke shop perverted into weapons manufacture, of Harry, who wasn’t Chosen anymore. _You know it first-hand. So what do you think, can I survive this?_

She thought of James, his dark eyes and his declarations. _Can we survive this?_

With a resounding crack, the three of them disappeared into the void.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This has been sitting in my Google Docs for a few years now, but it seemed like there might be at least three (3) people interested in reading it so here you are! There will be at least one more part to it, and it will probably still draw a bit from the movie How I Live Now, which is also cousincest-y and on Netflix for now if you want to check it out.
> 
> Solecism refers to a specific type of Greek grammatical error, which I thought was a suitable understatement for the basic premise of this story.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I will be leaving for a two month Europe trip on Monday so will probably not update until July. Love you all!


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